


in this moment [lay me down]

by onefootonego (startingXI)



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, F/F, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, background: alex danvers/maggie sawyer/lucy lane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-17 07:58:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17556407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startingXI/pseuds/onefootonego
Summary: [and this is only a game. it is a game with well-defined rules and boundaries and a steady stream of encouragement from all parties that all activities are above board and wanted]maggie finds herself firmly back in the room as lucy nips at the tender flesh of her inner thigh. the flash of pain lasts no longer than a second, yet maggie inhales a sharp gasp and she hears lucy’s low, predatory chuckle fill the room “easy baby,” lucy teases, her hand, soaked with maggie’s want, pressing against the bone of maggie’s hip roughly, pushing maggie back into position “you think you can stay still for me?”





	in this moment [lay me down]

the rope wound around maggie’s wrists with delicate precision bites into her skin with a familiar and pleasant burn. she squirms against the bonds, tugging at them and feeling how little give there is between her wrists and where she’s tethered along the headboard. there’s freedom in this struggle, in being trapped and spread on display for lucy. maggie can feel the once cool sheets underneath her, can feel the way they’ve bunched beneath her squirming body, evidence of her own desperation. there’s a delicate ache in her shoulders that is just this side of pleasant, matched by the deep-set, throbbing ache between her legs. maggie’s thighs are slick with her want, her need, and even if lucy’s naked form wasn’t settled south of maggie’s hips, she would know better than to press her thighs together in an attempt to satiate burning desire. 

lucy’s tongue laps unhurriedly at maggie’s clit, two fingers pumping in and out of maggie’s cunt with no real pace behind them. actions done by someone who knows maggie’s body, and her tells, well. it seems that lucy’s goal tonight is to pull maggie apart, reduce her to a strung out, needy, carefree shadow of herself. only then, maggie suspects, when she is drunk on lucy’s denial, will maggie be granted what she so desires. 

an orgasm. 

the thought of such pleasure makes maggie’s hips twitch in a desperate attempt to seek out more, to seek out enough contact to push her over the very distant edge. for the briefest of moments maggie finds herself flung out into space, her eyes are closed, and she is overwhelmed by a wash of sensations. lucy’s fingers inside of her, suddenly still. lucy’s hot breath against maggie’s inner thigh that sends a shiver up maggie’s spine. and then there’s the weight of lucy herself, settled between maggie’s legs as if there’s nowhere else in the world she would rather be. maggie can feel the muscle of lucy’s thighs against her calves as if she can trap lucy here and demand what she wants, needs even. 

except that is not how this game works. 

[and this is only a game. it is a game with well-defined rules and boundaries and a steady stream of encouragement from all parties that all activities are above board and wanted] 

maggie finds herself firmly back in the room as lucy nips at the tender flesh of her inner thigh. the flash of pain lasts no longer than a second, yet maggie inhales a sharp gasp and she hears lucy’s low, predatory chuckle fill the room “easy baby,” lucy teases, her hand, soaked with maggie’s want, pressing against the bone of maggie’s hip roughly, pushing maggie back into position “you think you can stay still for me?” 

it is, on some level, a genuine question. it is a crossroads for the evening where their play could diverge along one of a multitude of possible paths. lucy’s fingertips are tracing soft, damp, circles along maggie’s thigh as she observes her girlfriends struggle to put words into sentences into speech. lucy does not rush her, far from it in fact. she presses a kiss the angry, red mark where her teeth had been seconds before. it is the first in a series of open-mouthed kisses along maggie’s thighs lucy gives. 

even as lucy presses searing kisses into maggie’s thigh, 

maggie is somewhere else entirely. 

she is in a different room with deeper, unfamiliar shadows and the bonds around her wrists bring them to ache in a way that maggie wants to escape from. there is music, tinny and distant, but maggie hears the last dregs of a melody that she had hoped to never hear again. 

“you with me,” lucy asks, her voice gentler still as half a minute passes and maggie is still without a voice “what’s your colour mags?” 

when maggie does find her voice when she finds herself back in the present moment, 

her voice is small, distracted as if she is not wholly in the room “yellow.” she whispers, the single word floating into the space between them like a buoy. 

the word catches lucy’s attention at once and she straightens, pushing herself up onto her elbows. the movement brings spasms of soreness through her elbows, the small of her back and her shins. distantly lucy registers the release of her shoulder with a subtle pop. there are prices she must pay in the name of getting older, and such soreness from the edge of the bed digging into her tibia is one of those. 

before what seems like a lifetime ago, maggie whispering such a word would have speared fear into lucy’s heart, panic would have pounded through her veins. lucy would have sprung for the scissors and cut maggie free before asking what was going on, what maggie needed. now, 

now lucy has learned to listen, to watch, to trust maggie into conveying what she needs. 

“you.” maggie murmurs “just,” she takes a slow breath “just need you. for a moment.” 

“of course.” lucy breathes in her response, crawling up and over maggie. 

maggie’s skin is warm to the touch, and even contact in this context sends jolts of desire straight to lucy’s cunt. she slides into the space next to maggie, resting on one elbow and looking down at maggie. 

her hair is wrecked from her writhing and there’s a sheen of sweat across maggie’s forehead. 

from this position, maggie looks impossibly more gorgeous and lucy files that away as something for a later date “do you want your hands?” 

“not yet.” maggie exhales “i just,” she closes her eyes and lucy sees the tremble in maggie’s jaw and the white-knuckle grip maggie’s fingers have around the indigo rope. 

words seem to have failed maggie, stuck in her chest somewhere, unable to escape. 

“hey,” lucy says as gently as she can, letting the word curl around maggie’s worry “maggie, can you look at me?” 

this is not a command, in this there is room for maggie to say no, to present her refusal if she so desires. lucy hopes that’s not the case, she hopes maggie will open her eyes and answers will be given in a silent conveyance. 

seconds pass where maggie is still and the room is filled with the sounds of their breathing. lucy tries not to worry, but she finds both halves of herself, 

the dominant in control of a sub who looks on the verge of tears, 

and lucy, who sees her girlfriend on the verge of tears, 

are pulsating with twin worries. 

“i’m okay,” maggie breathes, opening her eyes, which tell a different story – glittering with tears as they are “i’m okay, luce.” she breathes “can i have my hands?” she asks, and really, it’s not a question. 

before she can even finish asking, lucy is sitting up, she is repositioning herself so she can make quick work of the knots. as the rope peels itself away, indentations are left around maggie’s wrists. deep lines, red and angry looking have pressed themselves into the soft skin there. with a soft murmur of thanks, lucy watches as maggie brings her arms down, soothing her wrists with delicate touches. 

“may i-?” lucy asks, worry bubbling in her stomach and threatening to overflow into her veins. 

maggie nods with a soft, indescribable noise and presents her wrists for lucy’s touch. it is a happy coincidence that lucy happens to feel the rabbit-fast beating of maggie’s heart at her pulse point. lucy works the skin, feeling where the rope chafed and twisted against maggie’s struggles. 

“where’s your head?” lucy asks into the soft darkness, gauging maggie’s eyes, her jaw, her throat, looking for signs of growing distress. 

“somewhere else.” maggie answers honestly, looking over at lucy as if realising where she was for the first time. she blinks at lucy, studying her owlishly “i’m sorry.” she murmurs as lucy takes maggie’s other wrist and works it tenderly. 

it’s disconcerting for lucy, but she holds her questions, maggie reaches up and traces lucy’s jaw with a finger as lucy speaks “don’t be.” she reassures “you have nothing to be sorry for.” 

maggie’s free hand curls into a loose fist, resting on the soft swell of her stomach “everything you were doing, it was amazing,” she says, gaze distracted away from lucy’s concern, fixed instead at a point on the wall “i just,” she swallows thickly. 

lucy’s not breathing, or she doesn’t think she is anyway. she’s scared in all the ways she doesn’t want to be, all the ways she desperately tries to hide from maggie in this moment. lucy feels her own heart beginning to take up an anxious thrumming studying the flicker of emotions across maggie’s face. she can see, not fear, but, 

well, 

discontent. a subtle, twisting discontent that pushes an ache deep into lucy’s chest. 

it makes her wish alex was here. 

“i need to shower.” maggie voices quietly, her gaze still caught across the room, staring into shadows. 

lucy aches. 

“okay.” she says, unsure of her place in what’s happening “i’ll-” she starts, stops, “i’ll be here,” she says, but lucy’s voice is thin and her hands are shaking, gripping into the bed beneath her as maggie slips away out of bed. 

lucy watches without speaking, she watches maggie grab a clean shirt from the dresser and slip it on. the ache in lucy’s chest blooms into a band that slips around her, tightening in notches with every step maggie takes. lucy shifts and digs her fingers into her palms, attempting to grab hold of the panic seizing her. she can feel it spreading from the pit in her stomach, across her chest, into her arms and legs. 

“i’ll be quick.” maggie promises, casting what should be a reassuring glance over her shoulder, 

yet it’s lost on lucy. a self-contained implosion that should, had it been anyone else but maggie 

[or alex] 

have gone unnoticed. except it doesn’t. except maggie pauses, one hand on the door handle, the other holding her bundle of pyjamas close to her chest. she pauses, stock still in the doorway “luce,” she says “luce are you okay?” 

“fine.” lucy chokes out, but she’s not. 

she’s spinning, untethered. 

“lucy,” maggie says, taking a step closer to the bed “oh lucy,” she says quickly, letting her sleep clothes drop to the floor at her feet as she walks back towards the bed. 

lucy leans back, fisting her hands into the sheet and trying to force out a breath. except air catches in her chest and lucy is left feeling like a fish out of water. she feels disconnected from herself, as if her mind and her body are two separate entities once connected but now, freed from each other. the sensation of drifting scares lucy, causes more panic to seep into her veins and less air to move through her. 

“lucy,” maggie says, sitting on the edge of the bed “lucy, it’s okay.” there is a lurch in maggie’s stomach at the sight of lucy strung out and near tears. it brings forth the realisation that she moved too quickly, explained too little. maggie is left all to clearly able to imagine what’s going on in lucy’s head, the runaway train of thoughts taking her by storm. 

she can see the veins of lucy’s hand, wandering, snakelike across the back of her hand. she can see the tendons, tense and straining as lucy grips the bed as if it is the only thing to keep her safe. maggie eases lucy’s hand off the bed and takes it in her own “you’re okay.” maggie promises, but her mind is racing, trying to think of all the ways she can bring lucy back to the moment “you didn’t do anything wrong.” she reassures “you didn’t hurt me. you didn’t do anything wrong.” 

maggie is climbing back into bed now, pressing the full length of herself against lucy. it’s all maggie can do to pull the sheet, the duvet, back up and cover them both. there’s a chill to lucy’s skin, a shiver deep-set in her bones and maggie tentatively wraps her arms around lucy. she waits, ready to retract them, to give lucy space if she gives so much as half an indication but, 

but the opposite happens instead. 

lucy buries her head in maggie’s neck, her arms wrap around maggie’s torso and cling to her back. the invisible band lucy felt around her chest seems to snap and she takes a full, gasping breath. maggie can feel lucy’s soft exhalation ripple down her shirt and the pads of lucy’s fingers grip hard enough to bruise. 

“i’m here.” maggie promises “i’m here.”

lucy nods into maggie’s chest, reeling with the rollercoaster of emotions that slammed into her. her brain is moving at the speed of light, maybe faster, flipping from one thought to the next, to the next and the next before lucy has a chance to understand where the thoughts are going. she recognises the gist, maggie leaving, maggie declaring how lucy has irreparably hurt her, alex following with burning hatred in her eyes. a nightmare, out of control and utterly untrue, yet in this moment, wholly real to lucy.

“you didn’t do anything wrong.” maggie promises “it was me,” she says “a memory. i’m sorry.” she murmurs “but i’m here. i’m not mad at you. you didn’t do anything wrong.” maggie rambles on, saying anything and everything she can to tether lucy to this moment and remind her that she acted perfectly. 

it takes long, agonising minutes for lucy to calm. it starts with her bruising grip on maggie slacking and filters through to her breathing. even when she is level, lucy doesn’t have the courage to pull herself away from maggie and face her. maggie’s hands, stroking up and down her back are a comfort lucy needs right now. maggie’s soft words are enveloping lucy like a blanket, echoing louder and louder, fighting for space with the nightmare scene that untraveled itself in lucy’s minds’ eye. 

in the cave of maggie’s arms, covered by the duvet and surrounded by their shared heat, lucy finds words. they’re soft, but not lost on maggie, 

“what happened?” she asks “where did you go?” 

maggie takes a breath “an ex,” she starts “one of the bad ones.” she exhales, hating that there are plural but focusing on the way lucy surfaces from under the covers to watch maggie’s face “i got caught up thinking about her. about,” maggie swallows hard “we did a scene like this, but i’d forgotten. it was the memories, i got caught up.” she is apologetic now, but lucy’s whole being softens.

“so you safeworded.” she says “and you needed to shower.” lucy says with understanding lacing her voice, she too understands the feeling of grim that can only be rinsed away by a scorching hot shower. 

“yeah.” maggie agrees, looking away for a brief moment, guilt in her eyes. 

lucy, still shaking, presses a gentle kiss to maggie’s jaw “look at me.” she coaxes.

maggie does. “i should have explained.” she says “i shouldn’t have just left, it wasn’t fair to you. i didn’t explain. i let you think,” she trails off, not wanting to dig into those horrors further “i’m sorry.” maggie says. 

“we learn.” lucy says, resting her head back down on the swell of maggie’s breast “we’re still learning.” 

their beating hearts are slowing, soft breathing is falling into rhythm with each other. maggie’s hands still duck under the covers and skate up and down in smooth strokes, along the plane of lucy’s back. their legs tangle comfortably. together, they exist like this, exhausted in every sense of the word and - 

maggie presses a gentle kiss to the top of lucy’s head “would you like to shower with me?” she asks. 

lucy looks up at her, chin digging into the space between maggie’s ribs “if you’ll have me.” she replies. 

maggie ducks down, straining her neck to kiss lucy, murmuring “i’ll always have you.” 

**

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to just be porn...and then it wasn't. 
> 
> thank you to everyone who kudo'd and commented on my previous two stories, i will reply to them at some point in the next few days. y'all are the best.


End file.
